


The Fall (with a better ending)

by ABigWhiteWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABigWhiteWolf/pseuds/ABigWhiteWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt was "playing with Sherlock's hair". Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall (with a better ending)

“JOHN! How many times did I tell you not to touch my things?!” _Ah, here we go again. What did I mess up this time?_ thought John, not even bothering to look at Sherlock when he answered.  
“Sherlock, I haven’t got the slightest intention of touching your things. Your things are disgusting, that’s why.” John wasn’t in the mood for arguing. It was an exceptionally long day in the hospital, and all he really wanted now was to finish drinking his tea here in the kitchen and to fall asleep in his bed with some sort of book which weight would press down on his chest in a comfortable way.  
“Then how do you explain the missing pencils? The pizza receipts? The little blue star shaped buttons?! Or the autumn oak leaves, so thoroughly dried!” Sherlock was pacing around the living room, constantly shifting between the furniture, throwing papers and clothes in the air in a desperate effort to find something he’d lost. _Just keep the place tidy, Sherlock! That way, you won’t be losing stuff all the time, Christ._  
“ _Oh_ , you mean _those_ things. Well, it’s not like I threw them away, I just moved them to a better position. Somewhere less – hang on! Those leaves were for a case?”  
“Of course they were, why else would I store leaves at home?!!”  
“I thought you were being... sentimental?”  
“My God...” With a moan similar to a whimper of a five-year-old boy who’s been robbed of his Christmas gifts, Sherlock collapsed into his chair and covered his face with both hands.  
“Wait, I think I’ve actually seen the blue buttons on one of Mrs. Hudson’s sweaters.”  
“Perfect, I can still retrieve them.”  
“Sure, just... be nice to her.” John took a sip of his tea, convinced that the fight was over, and turned to another page of a magazine he was reading. _‘How to deal with hyperactive children: 5 tips that will make your kid still and focused.’_  
“Why can’t you keep things where I put them?!”  
John rolled his eyes and with a heavy sigh put down the magazine. “Because then there’s a real danger I’ll get killed by them.”  
“But I need them right now! There used to be one in the cupboard, in the old mug that’s at the very back, we never use it. Another one in the flowerpot you brought the other day. And one under the sofa, just at the spot where you can reach with your hand when you’re lying down. They were put on the exact locations where I knew I’d find them again. What did you do with them?”  
John frowned and looked at Sherlock as if staring at him long enough would make John understand what he’s talking about. “You’re not talking about cigarettes, are you?”  
“The glass marbles, John!!” Sherlock rose from the chair and restlessly walked to the window, looked outside, and headed back to the sofa.  
“Are you telling me... that... you’ve lost your marbles? All of them?” Sherlock stopped pacing and gave John a _hahaha-very-funny-John-great-sense-of-humour-you-have_ look.  
“I should probably inform Lestrade of this event. He won’t be happy to hear that the great detective lost his mind because he couldn’t find his favourite toy.”  
“John...” _Oh God, he’s serious_.

John remembered; he had been tripping over those little round rubbish things all the time on all different places. One day, he finally had enough of it, found a small bag and put all the marbles in. It took him quite a while to find all of them but he was persistent and at the end of the day he counted 17 marbles in total. They were rather too pretty to be put at the bins, so John, being the usual sentimental type he was, decided to place the bag on the very top of Sherlock’s bookcase, the highest piece of furniture there was in their living room. After a short consideration, John, instead of trying to _climb_ the bookcase, moved a few steps back and threw the carefully sealed bag on top of it. Success on first try! In this way, the glass marbles won’t keep getting under his feet, and will be calmly waiting to be rediscovered some time later. Hopefully decades later. 

****

Even though Sherlock was considerably taller than John, as he did not forget to mention on many occasions, he still wasn’t able to reach the top of the bookcase. He could have brought one of the chairs from the kitchen, but he was still mad at John and didn’t want to show any signs of weakness. Instead, he grabbed the table standing in the living room, and, as silently as he could, moved it next to the bookcase. He was sure John won’t look at him and rather stay focused on his tea and that stupid magazine with the first twenty pages being about seemingly delicious Christmas cookies and biscuits, while the other half would give infinite amount of useless and drastic diet tips. Convinced that John wouldn’t bother turning around, Sherlock started talking again.  
“John, really, you never cease to amaze me.” said Sherlock while he scrambled up the table resembling a nimble cat.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Of all places! The top of my bookcase! I regret not being here to witness your heroic attempt to clamber this mountain of books, the Mount Bibliotheca, this mound of highly intellectual titles-“  
“Yes, Sherlock, I didn’t climb it, okay? I saved the effort and just threw the bag to the top.” John turned around to give Sherlock a grumpy look. Or possibly a _I-actually-think-that-my-solution-was-pretty-smart…and-I’m-grumpy-cause-you-hadn’t-noticed_ look. He wasn’t quite sure yet, but seeing Sherlock standing on the table trying to reach the top of the bookcase, made him forget what he was thinking about.  
“Oh, clever you.” Sherlock finally got hold of the bag and eagerly started opening it with his brisk fingers. When he noticed that John is watching him for the whole time, he didn’t let his inner panic show, and with a sneer on his face, said a simple “What?”  
John shook his head and turned back to his magazine and tea. “I shouldn’t have told you where I hid it. I hadn’t even tried to resist!”  
“That’s because you know when it’s worth it.” Somehow, this statement made John feel less mad and a lot better.  
“But don’t feel flattered,” continued Sherlock, now counting the marbles, “we’re going to find out any second whether it was worth it to touch my things. If there’s a single marble missing, I shall strangle you to – SEVENTEEN, JOHN. THERE’S ONE MISSING!”  
“For God sake, Sherlock, stop yelling! I didn’t devour it, if it’s not in the bag, than it has to be somewhere here in the flat. Now let me just FINISH MY TEA IN PEACE!” John wanted to add just a few more unflattering remarks expressing his frustration over his tea getting cold, but a loud sound of falling furniture and of a human body hitting the floor interrupted him in his berating. 

****

Hearing the sound, John swiftly turned around to see what happened. “Sherlock, are you –“  
Sherlock was curled up on the floor, papers and books scattered all around, and while his posture might seem relaxed, his face, twisted in pain, showed otherwise. “Oh God…” John hurried to his friend, hoping he’s not seriously wounded. “Did you hit your head?” He kneeled down and took Sherlock’s hands off his head. _No blood. Good. Thank God._  
“I must… The candles were bee shaped, John! Lestrade didn’t notice.” Sherlock probably did his best to command his body to get up, but all his brain was capable of was sending a signal to both his hands to grasp his head again and hold it tight.  
“Yes, that’s amazing, Sherlock! The things you see! Let me just help you stand up. Here, take my hand.” John slid his hand under Sherlock’s left shoulder and slowly got him in a sitting position. Because Sherlock wasn’t willing to let go of his head, John had to move behind Sherlock, grab him under his arms, and then pulled him up.  
“You don’t understand; you never do! The rat’s tale was blue and that’s why the dog ran away!” Sherlock continued wish his mumbling while they were struggling their way to the sofa.  
“You’re absolutely right, Sherlock, I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I expect you to tell me more about it. What about you and I sit on the sofa together and you can tell me all about it. While I have a look at your head.”

Finally, John seated Sherlock on their sofa, waited a bit until he calmed down and once again, pulled Sherlock’s hands off his head. He was now bending forward with his head laid on his knees. While John took a quick look at his crown and the back of his head, he could hear Sherlock’s breathe slowing down. There was a muffled sound from under the heap of dark curls.  
“John?”  
“Hmm?”  
“I think I am all right now.”  
“Are you sure? You seemed really confused and disoriented. I think you should rest a little. Just lie down and take a nap, your thoughts will then re-arrange themselves faster.”  
“Am I bleeding?”  
“Haha, no, you were lucky. There was no sharp-edged furniture in your way.”  
“Because I moved all of it out of the way.”  
“Because you needed it for your mountaineering act.”  
“Yes…”  
John put his hand on Sherlock’s back and gave him a little pat. “A big awkward bump on your crown, that’s all you get! Your head will get puffy!”  
“Well thanks a lot, John, it’s all your fault!” Sherlock gave him an angry look. “But… I think… you should examine it once more… rather more thoroughly, I need to be sure that I am not wounded!”  
“If you insist…” John shrugged.  
“Yes, I do. I’m also taking your advice and I’m going to lie down now.”  
“What? Like… right now?”  
“Yes.” Having said that, Sherlock fell over to John’s lap, making himself comfortable.  
“I – “  
“Just check my head once again, John, thank you.”  
 _Well… why not. I could have missed something._ As he was scanning through Sherlock’s hair, smooth and pleasant to touch, he started to feel somewhat guilty.  
“I’m sorry about your marbles. I should have asked you first.”  
“Yes.”  
“Were they of great significance to you?”  
“Not in particular.”  
John stopped examining Sherlock’s head and sighed. _Sherlock, can you be a normal person for once? Wait… No… That wouldn’t be you, right? You are you, and that’s fun. Weird. But fun._  
“My head, John. You’ve missed the occipital.”  
“Why do you have to keep the flat so messy? You can hardly find anything in here!”  
“No, John, I have a perfect system, an impeccable layout that never fails! Unless you start removing my things.” Sherlock pointed his index finger to John to add a proper emphasis to his statement, and they put his hand back on John’s thigh, where it was resting before.  
“Oh so you’re telling me that these crumpled heaps of paper, that pile of dirty clothes with the apple core on top, and that teacup pyramid with mould all over it, that’s organized?”  
“Yes. I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s.”  
“That’s – “ John seriously didn’t know how to react to this exclamation.  
“What?”  
“Nothing.” John let his hands drop on the sofa. “You’re all right. There’s no wound on your head.”  
“Look again.”  
“Sherlock – “  
“The lightning is bad, you might have overlooked something. Surely you don’t want me to faint in the middle of a criminal chase, do you? Look again. Closer.”

****

There was a buzzing sound; Sherlock has just got a text on his phone. John could swear that he was talking to Sherlock about those bloody glass marbles just a minute ago, but as he looked around in confusion, he noticed it got already dark outside. He must have fallen asleep. Both of them. Sherlock on his lap with John’s hand on his head. _Please don’t make any comments about that, Sherlock. Please._ Sherlock silently, though he was evidently peeved about it, got up, and trudged wearily towards the table. In a matter of few clicks he switched his phone off and blithely threw it somewhere behind his back. John was thinking whether he should go to his bed upstairs or whether he could keep on sleeping on the sofa. It was comfortable enough and, quite frankly, John was simply too lazy to get up, walk the gazillion miles to his bedroom, change into his pajamas… _Teeth…teeth… I’d need to brush my teeth._ Just thinking about that extra effort made him weary again and when Sherlock returned to the sofa, John was already half-asleep again. But instead of laying his head back on John’s lap, _as if that wouldn’t be weird enough_ , Sherlock sat next to John, leaned onto him with all his weight, put his hands between his thighs and fell asleep. John wasn’t sure how to feel about that. _Wait. Has he really fallen asleep? Just like that?_  
“Sherlock?”  
“Shush.”  
 _Wow. Okay. Umm… Right._ John could feel Sherlock’s hot breath sneaking under his t-shirt, making him feel weirdly uncomfortable and wide awake. Sherlock’s thick curls tickled him under his ear and the feeling of Sherlock’s eyelashes on John’s skin spread an unusual emotion across his body. _Well… What’s the matter, anyway? We’re both tired, it’s not a big deal!_  
“My head hurts.” _Not asleep, then?_  
“Don’t worry, you’re going to be all right in the morning.” Without any further hesitation, John put his arm around Sherlock’s shoulder and kissed his forehead. John realized what he did only a few seconds later. He expected a long lecture about uselessness of such behaviour, mad yelling, or angry leaving to each other’s bedrooms. One thing he did not expect was absolutely no reaction from Sherlock’s side. Except for the fact that Sherlock was now even more snuggled against John’s chest. _Should I, or should I not?_ John looked at Sherlock; he looked so serene with his eyes closed and mouth slightly opened. John took a deep breath and touched Sherlock’s cheek. He slowly rubbed it with his thumb and then kissed Sherlock on his lips. It didn’t last very long, but during those few seconds, he could feel Sherlock’s body tensing up, his eyelashes twitching against John’s face, and his mouth opening just a tad bit more, enabling John to use his tongue. When their lips parted, John rested his head against the sofa with a sigh. _Okay. Yes. Good. I’ve just kissed my flatmate. I’ve kissed Sherlock Holmes. Sure. Yeah. Why not. Good idea, that. I am fine, I’m feeling absolutely fine. And he’s not complaining. Well, he’s… oh, he’s asleep. Okay._  
“Sherlock?”  
“Please let me sleep.”  
“Sorry.”  
And so they slept together on their old sofa, curled up against each other, dreaming about things they never dare to dream about before. Well, John did, for sure. He wasn’t sure about Sherlock, because when he woke up that morning, he was already gone. John spent the whole day torturing himself with bad thoughts and horrible scenarios, until Sherlock finally came home at the evening. John didn’t really know what to say, but while Sherlock was fidgeting with his coat and scarf at the door, he tried his luck.  
“How’s your head?”  
“Good.” Said Sherlock while he was going up the stairs. “But I think it still needs a further examination. Would you mind if I sleep in your bed tonight?”  
John scratched his head. _Well, do I?_

John never found out why Sherlock was so keen to find and to possess the glass marbles. Needless to say, he didn’t really care.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a Native English speaker, sorry for that.
> 
> I am also not a doctor and have no idea how one should act in case of falling and hitting your head. Oops.


End file.
